


Need It Now

by Sheytsa



Series: How Do You Need It [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Adrenaline, Adrenaline Junkie Sam, Blood and Gore, Grinding, Kind and Considerate Sam 'n' Steve Are Also Soldiers, Kinktober 2017, M/M, let's not forget, the blood of our enemies, who are very pissed off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 06:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12475044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheytsa/pseuds/Sheytsa
Summary: Steve’s face usually looks smooth, too damn young for how heavy his eyes are, but not like this. Up close like this every tiny line looks like a capillary, highlighted with captured blood, and his eyes have a wild light in them, vivid blue under still-ruddy eyebrows. He looks even more flaglike than usual, and Sam would chuckle except he’s too busy looking at Steve’s mouth.“You’re still bleeding.”Steve licks his lips, and - fuck, Sam’s breath catches in his chest like a parachute yanking him up hard. “Yeah, must have reopened it - ”Sam’s not even listening. He leans in, and Steve’s breath accelerates like Sam’s body is the throttle. Sam reaches out his tongue, real slow, and licks across Steve’s lower lip. Salt, and rust, thick and fresh and alive.





	Need It Now

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tree Beside The River](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7646923) by [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye). 



> Trigger/squick warning: Mind the tags!

“Clear, over.”

 

The mission went about as expected, flashbang grenades on a timer dropped in the air shafts to soften up the target, after which Steve and Sam went in oldschool, cover-shoot. Well, cover-shoot until the Hydra goons decided to swarm their chokepoint and fight to the last man. Steve’s plan had involved an extremely perfunctory shout for surrender about an eighth of a second before hurling his shield through four Hydra necks while Sam opened fire; anyone worth interrogating wasn’t likely to be in the front line, and if you go in all shock and awe they maybe surrender faster and harder, or something like that. They’ve neither of them been at their most concerned with Hydra lives at present, not after that cache of videotapes they found. 

Things were going surprisingly close to according to plan until a couple of either over- or under-motivated guards slipped around Steve’s one-man maelstrom impression and came at Sam before he had a chance to reload. Steve saw, screamed and put his elbow through someone’s temple, which gave Sam a nice opening to cut a few people busy having heart attacks. Once Steve made himself Sam’s very own deluxe full-service firing blind, they took another shot at yelling for them to give it up, but they got the hardcore loyalists here, apparently, and the fight ended when the hall was choked with blood and smoke and silence.

Maybe there were rats in the walls. Maybe there were researchers or techs or admins or fucking janitors or something who might not say hi with a bullet. They split up to clear the place. Nope. 

 

“Clear, out.”

 

Sam follows the sound of water running to Steve’s shield, dripping against the doorjamb  of a utility closet, where Steve is scrubbing his hands with Gojo. 

Everyone’s on their feet and clearheaded, so combat readiness comes first. Sam’s proper weapons clean is going to wait, but he checks and reloads his guns and swipes his knife off on...Jesus, he’s fucking covered in blood. It’s seeping in under his Kevlar. He finds a clean spot on his calf to wipe the knife and moves on to field triage. 

Medic mind takes over, cooling his adrenaline long enough to feel his bruises. He feels Steve’s eyes on him sidelong while he checks. It’s just bruises, maybe some scrapes, thank God. The vest did its job, not to mention Steve is a fucking ridiculous tank; that fucking target-looking outfit might as well be an aggro spell the way it pulls bullets and attention. Sam was lucky.

Minor injuries are also going to wait for somewhere safe with a lock and a shower, so it’s Steve’s turn. “You hurt?” Sam takes Steve’s place at the sink, closely watching how Steve moves, how his face reacts. 

He winces in the way that tells Sam he’s not trying to hide anything. “Couple grazes...yeah, that one’s a cut. Healing already.”

“Lemme see.” Sam pulls on gloves and gently pries open the tears in the suit.

Steve’s right: there’s new pink skin already showing at the edges, and the bleeding’s nearly stopped. Sam washes the wounds carefully and tapes them up, because it doesn’t matter how many tests confirm Steve’s magic immune system, he can’t watch Steve walk around with like eight people’s blood soaking his open wounds. Steve leans against the shelving to let him do it, one hand on Sam’s shoulder, and - yeah, he’s  _ really _ aware of the contact, of Steve’s body under his hands. His heart kicks back up.  _ You’re here. I’m here. Still here. Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

“You notice how there was no one here but them STRIKE force types?”

Steve makes a face. “Like they cleared everyone else out for us?” Steve pulls Sam up to his feet and splashes some water into his hands. 

“Like that, yeah.” Sam feels his mouth set in a grim line, but he can’t hold the expression as Steve reaches out, solemn and open as the sky, to wipe Sam’s face. Sam’s eyes close, and he leaves them closed, listening to Steve rinse his hands and turn to him again. Steve’s callused hands touch him so tender, so damn gentle. Sam licks his lips.

Blood.  _ Shit. _ He’s taken his PrEP, and there’s nothing to do for it down here.

“Okay, Sam?” Steve says, a throaty little whisper from close. 

“Yeah.” Sam’s voice has gotten hoarse. 

Steve roughly thumbs another drop off Sam’s cheek, and his breath catches. Steve pulls his hand away, and Sam’s focus locks in on the smear of red, stark bright against Steve’s milky skin. 

“Jesus.” 

“Yeah.” 

Sam reaches for the water. Jesus, Steve is fucking  _ soaked _ in blood, splashed over him, thick in his hair like someone left a bucket of red paint over the door, like he’s been butchering oxen with his face. That’s...not so far off, actually. Sam wipes Steve’s face down, and the water makes tear-streaks through the crust, thinning it out and making it brighter. Steve’s eyelashes are dripping with it; he blinks his eyes clear, spraying fine red droplets that feel like mist on Sam’s face.

Their breathing has gone a little ragged, both of them. Sam turns to the sink, and when he turns back, Steve’s hands go around his waist and pull him close. Sam pushes his hands through Steve’s hair before giving it up. 

“Damn, Steve,” he murmurs, “stick your head under this tap so I can kiss you.” 

Steve does. Sam reaches around him, and they clean Steve’s face and hair four-handed. It’s impossible not to think about fucking him like this, just opening up that fuckin’ flashy suit and getting inside...

When Steve’s clean enough for government work, he stands, twisting right fucking up against Sam’s body. Steve’s face usually looks smooth, too damn young for how heavy his eyes are, but not like this. Up close like this every tiny line looks like a capillary, highlighted with captured blood, and his eyes have a wild light in them, vivid blue under still-ruddy eyebrows. He looks even more flaglike than usual, and Sam would chuckle except he’s too busy looking at Steve’s mouth. 

“You’re still bleeding.”

Steve licks his lips, and - fuck, Sam’s breath catches in his chest like a parachute yanking him up hard. “Yeah, must have reopened it - ”

Sam’s not even listening. He leans in, and Steve’s breath accelerates like Sam’s body is the throttle. Sam reaches out his tongue, real slow, and licks across Steve’s lower lip. Salt, and rust, thick and fresh and alive.

Steve shivers. His hands seize on Sam’s waist. His eyes flash wide, and they have a bare second to stare at each other before they’re on each other, kissing rough, shoving their dicks against each other, hands everywhere. 

“Fuck,” Sam gasps, a punched-out grunt of a sound. 

Steve makes a desperate noise into Sam’s mouth and grabs a handful of his ass. Their legs tangle together and they crash over hard into the utility shelves. 

Fresh pain flares from Sam’s bruises, lighting his body up. It amps them both up higher, they’re groaning and grinding and they’re gonna come, fuck, yeah, they’re gonna come just like this. Steve’s hands are digging in hard enough to hurt,  _ fuck _ yes, fuck fuck  _ yes, _ Sam wants to have Steve’s hands on him for days, yes,  _ yes. _ He grinds like he’s trying to fuck his way through Steve’s hip - he wants to leave a dick-shaped bruise that he’ll be able to see tonight, pull the blood up under that shiny noonday skin and make it dark. 

Steve swirls his tongue and sucks, and - Sam’s right there, fuckin’ Jesus fuckin’  _ Christ, _ the sounds Steve’s making, this continuous wordless pleading sound, it’s pulling his balls up tight, cocking the gun, chamber the round. Fuck, Sam can’t come yet. Steve’s gonna go off at least twice and he’s got his pride. Sam bites down on Steve’s neck to hold back - and then when Steve fuckin’  _ shrieks _ and yanks Sam’s pelvis in like he’s trying to crack bone, Sam gets a better idea. 

He looks dead in Steve’s eyes and growls, “fuck, Steve,” licks the blood off Steve’s lip and then bites down, hard, so he bleeds again. 

Steve screams, and comes, thrusting so hard he lifts them up off the wall. It’s fire in the sky, Sam might be screaming too, he grabs Steve’s hand and clamps it onto his dick and follows Steve straight off the edge.

Sam’s flying, soaring, and then he realizes Steve’s arm around him is holding him up, and Steve’s hard again, digging into Sam’s groin. He sounds like the wind yanked the breath right out of his chest, so fucking close again already. Sam pulls himself together like the hero he fucking is and ripples his hand over Steve’s, rolling it into Steve’s dick, and Steve sobs in Sam’s ear, sobs Sam’s name again and again as he pulses his life out against Sam’s body and his hand.

They stand there for a minute, panting and leaning heavy on each other. Slowly Steve drags his head up off Sam’s shoulder, and they kiss, warm and wet and sluggish. When the kiss finally breaks, it takes a minute for Sam’s eyes to open, and the first thing he sees is Steve’s amazed expression, like Sam did a goddamn miracle. It makes his chest feel light, like flying and pulling his wings in to free fall.

The second thing he sees is the wet trickle of blood on Steve’s mouth, and he starts to laugh, low and filthy. Steve gives him this dirty smirk and then they’re kissing again, and Jesus, it’s like biting into a rare steak right off the grill - and if Steve’s not the primest slab of beef there is, Lord have mercy his soul, he  _ needs _ this.

They laugh and kiss like that for another slow while, and when that finally breaks, Sam sees the red brushed through Steve’s eyebrows, dyeing his eyelashes. For a minute it’s adorable, makes Sam reminisce, the little red droplets Steve sprayed when he fluttered those pretty eyelashes in Sam’s face.

Then Sam sees Steve’s hair, which is still has more blood in it than is really adorable. And Steve’s neck, which still has tracks of blood stained down it. His neck, which Sam was biting on.

“Holy  _ shit,” _ Sam says, not sure if he wants to laugh or be appalled.

Steve blinks at him, and - seems to go through the same process, eyes flicking over Sam’s cheek, then his neck and shoulders, and then Sam’s hand - what the fuck? Sam could swear to God he washed his hands. And then he put them all over Steve’s filthy, bloody uniform. 

Turns out Sam’s going to laugh and be appalled.

“Fuck, Sam,” Steve says, laughing and shaking his head. He just looks appreciative, though, and then he leans in to suck on the side of Sam’s neck, which - his undershirt is fucking  _ crusted _ with it, ugh. 

Sam pushes Steve away, making a face, but Steve just leans in to kiss him on the mouth like a damn Labrador who’s decided to be an asshole. “Ugh,  _ no, _ Steve, Jesus.”

Steve smirks and lets him go.

“How are you so okay with this?” Sam asks, laughing helplessly. “We just had sex in a charnel house.”

Steve gives him a look of utter bafflement with a hint of champion troll. When Sam just looks at him slack-jawed, Steve fucking  _ ducks his head _ like he’s  _ bashful. _ “Wouldn’t be the worst I’ve, uh...”

Every once in a while, Sam is forcibly reminded that Steve served in a very different war than he did. 

Every once in a while, Sam asks questions no sane person would ask. “Wait, with Bucky or Peggy? No, no, no, I don’t really want to know,” he backpedals desperately.

Steve ostentatiously rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ typical. Soon as you get what you came for, the guilt starts.” 

Sam sputters, outraged, and Steve takes pity on him, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“C’mon, Sam. Let’s go clean up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [day 17](https://kinktober2017.tumblr.com/post/163962052261/kinktober-2017) of Kinktober! Structure taken from Rubynye’s extremely impressive [Thematic Series: Death and Sex](https://archiveofourown.org/series/520591). This fic and the ones to follow aren’t literally each inspired one-for-one by the fics in her series; the relationship between the stories and the overall triptych structure are what I’m playing with here. It’s a really neat form I hadn’t seen before.


End file.
